Luyện nghe bài hát Sasquatch

After my reputation of whore beaters
Soared to Taco Bell and I ordered gorditas (Mmm, that's good!)
Wanted four more, ordered 'em, eat 'em
Then head to Thebe's for some gymnastics
Fantastic, I backflip on beat B
Cause we running shit like the Dingleberry's on cheetahs
Flow colder Papa Joe's or Domino's (Fuck it, whatever, um)
scratched inside the knucks
Got some One Direction tickets, I should hit up
by with puppy signs plastered on the truck
Then see how many of they fans could fit inside the
Move over the and the cannabis
Try to take the van and the whole to Canada
Fuck the block news and the venues, they can't us
They stand us including fruits that Frank's channeling
The Ku Klux see me and my managers
But thank me when they ask where the Panels is (fuck)
Man, I suck now, I ain't still (nope)
But Chris and Rihanna's fuckin' again so still hope
Oh fuck, I went there, balling bitch, I'm Ben's
Y'all barely breaking like Taco's self-esteem in a chair
Old Navy bitches love this gap, yeah this grin's
Watch a nigga smile five-year-old child
I'm kicking it with Nak and the nigga Green Mile, it's
Red Bull in this cup so a nigga may seem but
That's just all the sherm I was burning a while ago
Don't let me get of that rifle
Shout my nigga Sage Elsseser and Sean
Surrounded by niggas that skate with a sick style
And some bitches with giant peaches that's vile
They never did catch that

full of some lost souls
Sergeant of all, it's autumn and Nak nollied a pothole
Non-cooperative with his wishes for college
And coppers labeled a problem since for Damianos
So shimmy through the swamp, nigga, me through the foxholes
Moral Orenthal with a pretty bitch in a
Hopped off the seven and stumbled into some Vatos
Threw a punch, got jumped, dusted off and walked home
Shit, it's like 6 p.m. and his throbbing
Hand in the cabinet by seven, the prescription oxies
in the boxes, all my niggas hostile
Cautious of your crosses, at your doctrines
Bitches stupid as the group is
Only slightly, precise to get a pussy nigga two chins
Man these stitches shut the lips, stumbled in a Ruth's Chris
Slid a booth and hid the luggage from his shroom trips
See, Lionel ball with on the weekend now
And on a scenic route, we on the second season now
fry got 'em seasons salty, weeded, coughing
Ease up off me, end is breathing as bulimics barfing
From a breed of doggy, from a different seed and cloth
And teeing off, believe it's Golf Wang,